Page 90 of The Serendipity

“I’m sorry,” I tell him, putting a hand over my eyes to shade the sun. “Could you repeat the question?”

We’re having a meeting before he heads back to New York and, at his insistence, this meeting is taking place by the courtyard pool. Honestly, not a terrible idea. Both of us have our jackets off and shirtsleeves rolled up. It’s bright and warm with a light breeze—like the weather decided to perfectly cooperate on the first day of spring. It’s actually really lovely out here. If I hadn’t already canceled my meeting with the architect to discuss plans to close in this space to add on to the building, I’d probably do so now.

The only downside is that being out here leaves me exposed to the residents, most of whom would still like to throw me into the pool. A few might actually try. I saw Frank and his bird glaring with equal vehemence through one of the windows a few minutes ago.

I really need to draft a new letter walking back my proposed changes before they band together and mutiny.

“I asked what your plan is.” Bellamy holds up three fingers. “Three times.”

Guess I missed his questionmorethan twice.

“My plan,” I repeat, speaking just as slowly as he did. “Hm. A cookie might help me think.”

Bellamy snatches the box from the table between our lounge chairs and moves it to his other side, out of my reach.

“I thought you were happy to see me eating cookies,” I complain.

“No—I was happy to see you break out of the rigidity that made you think cookies were evil. I am less happy to share my cookies with you. You’re the one dating the baker. Get your own.”

I do have my own stash upstairs. Though Willa has had an uptick of orders recently, she’s still found the time to keep Bellamy and now me in a steady supply. Even if she’s started returning a portion of the outrageous tips we’ve been leaving.

It became something of a game when I realized Bellamy was tipping Willa almost forty percent for every box. Not to be outdone, I placed an order and tipped forty-five. He went fifty. I don’t want to admit the current amount, but suffice to say, we both tipped so far above what the cookies actually cost that Willa yelled at us both. She said she couldn’t possibly keep our money and threatened to stop making cookies for us altogether.

I might continue over-tipping like this, if for no other reason than to see her angry. I love seeing Willa ruffled, and it’s fartoo easy to do. Her blue eyes blaze, and her hair gets wilder, like her anger sparks static electricity that infuses every strand. And true to her word, Willa hasn’t been keeping the money. Or, at least, not all of it. I’ve been finding cash stuffed in strange places throughout the apartment. In my silverware drawer. Underneath the bathroom cabinet. In my pillowcase.

I intend to sneak it all back into her possession. Like the bills I stuffed into her glove compartment when I tagged along with her on a trip to Spring Foods the other day. An envelope filled with twenties is now waiting to be discovered underneath the butter in the commercial kitchen.

“Your plan?” Bellamy reminds me, making a show of savoring his cookie.

The truth is—I don’t have a long-term plan with Willa. At least, nothing that’s solidified. The future is a hazy, soft-edged, lazy sort of dream where Willa and I build a life together.

But where? My life has always been in New York. I never thought I’d leave the city aside from college. I’ve started to acclimate here, maybe even enjoy the change, but I’m not sure if that’s the location or simply being around Willa.

Would I want to stay in Serendipity Springs forever? Or even long-term?

It’s a question I must consider—especially now that I know Willa can’t leave.

I had never heard of agoraphobia specific to a city or larger geographic area. But anxiety is something I’m familiar with. And last night I shared with Willa about my own struggles with social anxiety. The only other people who know are Bellamy, who was instrumental in getting me the help I needed years ago, and my father, who dismissed the idea as a form of weakness. I appreciate that, to some degree, Willa and I can understand each other.

But where my anxiety is manageable, it’s clear Willa’s still greatly impacts her life in ways she wishes it didn’t.

“It’s like I’m in that sci-fi show about the town with the invisible dome over it.” I wasn’t familiar, but she continued anyway. “I hadn’t given serious thought to moving anywhere else after college, but now that Ican’tleave, I just keep thinking of all the places I can’t go. I’ve got a whole Pinterest board dedicated to travel. If,” she said, and I could see her fighting back tears, “I can ever leave again.”

Immediately, I wanted to track down her Pinterest board—whatever that is—and start planning to take her to every one of those places. Which right now is impossible.

So is the idea of living in New York. Which means if I choose Willa, for now, at least, I’d be choosing a life here.

I check my phone again—still no update on the train parts.

“I’m not completely sure,” I finally admit to Bellamy. I don’t mention the agoraphobia, as it’s not my place to share. “It’s a conversation Willa and I need to have. Is it too soon, do you think?”

Bellamy smiles wide. “I was talking about your plans with the company, but this is far more interesting. Go on.”

I backpedal. “As for the company, I’d like to take a step back,” I say quickly. “Abiggerstep back. Which would allow me to stay here longer than I planned.”

“And how would you spend your time in Serendipity Springs now that Willa helped you find a new building manager?” Bellamy asks.

Yesterday, Willa and I interviewed Steve, a young Black man with a penchant for sweater vests and organization. He’s motivated and loves history. Apparently, he applied for the position not because he’s ever managed a building, but because he’s fascinated by The Serendipity. He seemed a little less fascinated when Willa mentioned the basement storage unit fullof unorganized files Galentine apparently left behind but agreed he would take care of organizing and digitizing whatever needed it.

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